


Cracks

by assassinslover



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 01:13:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/assassinslover/pseuds/assassinslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The resemblance is uncanny, but this new woman is nothing like Beth, despite physical appearances, with a small amount of tact and a penchant for further ruffling Alison's feathers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cracks

**Author's Note:**

> Dammit Jordan. Drabble-ish. Any spelling/grammar mistakes are my own.

Cosima's used to it, the tight rigidity with which Alison controls her life, so when she's laying in bed in her hotel room waiting until the time to leave rolls around, the text her clone phone pings with sets off alarm bells in her head. Two words: Beth's dead. A second later: There's another one. Cosima lets out her breath in a rush of air. She hadn't known Beth as well as Alison did. There wasn't much interaction between her and the cop with all the distance that was usually between them, but her stomach clenches in grief. She lets it linger, then sets it aside, gathering her things and bundling up against the cold to go flag down a cab.

The resemblance is uncanny, but this new woman is nothing like Beth, despite physical appearances, with a small amount of tact and a penchant for further ruffling Alison's feathers. The whole affair is a mess, not at all how Cosima wanted it to go, and Alison looks about ready to cry by the time Sarah and her brother hightail it out of the yard.

“She looks just like her,” Alison whispers, arms wrapped protectively around her torso, one of her hands lingering by her face where her cheek has already begun to turn red. Cosima quietly shuts the door behind her, turning the bolt until it locks with a satisfying clunk. “I can't believe Beth would do that.” Cosima sighs and briefly passes her hand over her forehead.

“She was pretty messed up, Alison,” she replies, which isn't exactly the most helpful thing she could have said and she regrets it as soon as the words leave her mouth, especially when Alison's face crumples and her lip quivers. Cosima hovers by the door while her clone sinks onto the sofa, hand moving to cover her mouth. There isn't enough wine in the world to drown out the pain, she thinks, settling herself next to her with her legs folded under her.

“How could she do this to me?” Alison whispers, and Cosima reaches out a hand to lay it against her shoulders.

“She had a lot of problems,” Cosima supplies, rubbing the space between Alison's shoulder blades. “We both knew that. She started to lose herself after that shooting.” Alison's breathing is shaky and her body trembles beneath Cosima's fingers. Cosima shifts herself, stretching out her legs so that she can hug Alison, who for all her irritating OCD tendencies might as well be a sister to her by this point. She repeats herself, her head in her hands, face hidden.

“Seeing her face, I just...” and then there's nothing but sobs, muffled so that no one else hears. Cosima sighs, and closes her eyes, and lets Alison find her shoulder, tears wetting the edge of her shirt and the side of her neck.

When she settles, Cosima quietly goes to fetch the wine, pouring both their glasses full, and she knows she has to leave soon, if the weights on her eyelids are any judge, but she doesn't have the heart to just leave Alison on her own. Donnie is incompetent, that much she knows. Alison knocks back the wine like it's water, unusual for her, even as much as she drinks. It's not until she's had several glasses, Cosima's half-assed attempts to get the bottle away from her having been unsuccessful, that she speaks again.

“We were sleeping together,” she says so softly that Cosima almost misses it completely, and her own inebriated mind can't quite process it, but she doesn't ask. “She made me feel like I'm a person not some... some...”

“Experiment,” Cosima offers. Alison pours herself another glass, and Cosima watches as she drinks half of it at once, her chest's dull ache reminding her of how Beth's death affects them both.

Alison is herself in the morning, shaking Cosima awake, all business, her voice stern.

“You need to leave before my husband and children wake up,” she says curtly. Cosima groggily blinks herself into awareness, Alison's hands practically pushing her out the door. “Cosima,” she says, before she shuts the door behind her. “Thank you.” Cosima smiles, sadly. It doesn't reach her eyes.

“I miss her, too.” Alison's façade cracks, the smallest bit, but then she nods sharply and shuts the door.


End file.
